LALUS, not with many painted words, nor false-hearted promises, had won the consent of his beloved Kala, but with a true and simple making her know he loved her; not forcing himself beyond his reach to buy her affection, but giving her such pretty presents as neither could weary him with the giving nor shame her for the taking. Thus the first strawberries he could find were ever in a clean washed dish sent to Kala. Thus posies of the spring flowers were wrapped up in a little green silk and dedicated to Kala’s breasts. Thus sometimes his sweetest cream, sometimes the best cake-bread his mother made, were reserved for Kala’s taste. Neither would he stick to kill a lamb when she would be content to come over the way unto him. But then lo, how the house was swept, and rather no fire than any smoke left to trouble her. Then love songs were not dainty, when she would hear them, and as much mannerly silence when she would not. In going to church, great worship to Kala, so that all the parish said never a maid they knew so well waited on; and when dancing was about the maypole, nobody taken out but she, and he after a leap or two to show her his own activity, would frame all the rest of his dancing only to grace her. As for her father’s sheep, he had no less care of them than his own; so that she might play her as she would, warranted with honest Lalus’s carefulness. But if he spied Kala favoured any one of the flock more than his fellows, then that was cherished, shearing him so (when shorn he must be) as might most become him; but while the wool was on, wrapping within it some verses (wherein Lalus had a special gift), and making the innocent beast his unwitting messenger. Thus constantly continuing, though he were none of the fairest, at length he wan Kala’s heart, the honestest wench in all those quarters. And so, with consent of both parents (without which neither Lalus would ask nor Kala grant), their marriage day was appointed; which, because it fell out in this time, I think it shall not be impertinent to remember a little our shepherds while the other greater persons are either sleeping or otherwise occupied. Lalus’s marriage time once known, there needed no inviting of the neighbours in that valley; for so well was Lalus beloved that they were all ready to do him credit. Neither yet came they like harpies to devour him, but one brought a fat pig, the other a tender kid, a third a great goose; as for cheese, milk and butter were the gossips’ presents. Thither came of stranger shepherds only the melancholy Philisides; for the virtuous Coredens had long since left off all joyful solemnities, and as for Strephon and Klaius, they had lost their mistress, which put them into such extreme sorrows as they could scarcely abide the light of the day, much less the eyes of men. But of the Arcadian-born shepherds, thither came good old Geron, young Histor (though unwilling), and upright Dicus, merry Pas, and jolly Nico; as for Dametas, they durst not presume, his pride was such, to invite him; and Dorus they found might not be spared. And there under a bower was made of boughs (for Lalus’s house was not able to receive them), they were entertained with hearty welcome, and every one placed according to his age. The women (for such was the manner of that country) kept together to make good cheer among themselves, from which otherwise a certain painful modesty restrains them. And there might the sadder matrons give good counsel to Kala who, poor soul, wept for fear of that she desired. But among the shepherds was all honest liberty; no fear of dangerous telltales (who hunt greater preys), nor indeed minds in them to give telltales any occasion, but one questioning with another of the manuring his ground, and governing his flock. The highest point they reached to was to talk of the holiness of marriage; to which purpose, as soon as their sober dinner was ended, Dicus instead of thanks sang this song with a clear voice and cheerful countenance:
Let mother earth now deck herself in flowers,
To see her offspring seek a good increase,
Where justest love doth vanquish Cupid’s powers
And war of thoughts is swallowed up in peace
Which never may decrease,
But like the turtles fair
Live one in two, a well united pair,
Which, that no chance may stain,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
O heav’n awake, show forth thy stately face;
Let not these slumb’ring clouds thy beauties hide,
But with thy cheerful presence help to grace
The honest bridegroom and the bashful bride,
Whose loves may ever bide,
Like to the elm and vine,
With mutual embracements them to twine;
In which delightful pain,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
Ye muses all which chaste affects allow,
And have to Lalus showed your secret skill,
To this chaste love your sacred favours bow,
And so to him and her your gifts distil,
That they all vice may kill;
And like to lilies pure
Do please all eyes, and spotless do endure;
Where, that all bliss may reign,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
Ye nymphs in which the waters empire have,
Since Lalus’ music oft doth yield you praise,
Grant to the thing which we for Lalus crave:
Let one time (but long first) close up their days,
One grave their bodies seize,
And like two rivers sweet
When they, though diverse, do together meet,
One stream both streams contain;
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
Pan, father Pan, the god of silly sheep,
Whose care is cause that they in number grow,
Have much more care of them that them do keep,
Since from these good the others’ good doth flow,
And make their issue show
In number like the herd
Of younglings which thyself with love hast reared,
Or like the drops of rain;
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
Virtue, if not a god, yet God’s chief part,
Be thou the knot of this their open vow:
That still he be her head, she be his heart,
He lean to her, she unto him do bow;
Each other still allow,
Like oak and mistletoe,
Her strength from him, his praise from her do grow.
In which most lovely train,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
But thou foul Cupid, sire to lawless lust,
Be thou far hence with thy empoisoned dart
Which, though of glitt’ring gold, shall here take rust
Where simple love, which chasteness doth impart,
Avoids thy hurtful art,
Not needing charming skill
Such minds with sweet affections for to fill,
Which being pure and plain,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
All churlish words, shrewd answers, crabbed looks,
All privateness, self-seeking, inward spite,
All waywardness which nothing kindly brooks,
All strife for toys, and claiming master’s right,
Be hence ay put to flight;
All stirring husband’s hate
Gainst neighbours good for womanish debate
Be fled as things most vain,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
All peacock pride, and fruits of peacock’s pride,
Longing to be with loss of substance gay
With recklessness what may thy house betide,
So that you may on higher slippers stay,
For ever hence away.
Yet let not sluttery,
The sink of filth, be counted housewifery;
But keeping wholesome mean,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
But above all, away vile jealousy,
The ill of ills, just cause to be unjust, (How can he love, suspecting treachery?
How can she love where love cannot win trust?)
Go snake, hide thee in dust,
Ne dare once show thy face
Where open hearts do hold so constant place;
That they thy sting restrain,
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.
The earth is decked with flow’rs, the heav’ns displayed,
Muses grant gifts, nymphs long and joined life,
Pan store of babes, virtue their thoughts well stayed,
Cupid’s lust gone, and gone is bitter strife,
Happy man, happy wife.
No pride shall them oppress,
Nor yet shall yield to loathsome sluttishness,
And jealousy is slain;
For Hymen will their coupled joys maintain.
‘Truly Dicus,’ said Nico, ‘although thou didst not grant me the prize the last day, when undoubtedly I wan it, yet must I needs say thou for thy part hast sung well and thriftily.’
Pas straight desired all the company they would bear witness that Nico had once in his life spoken wisely: ‘For,’ said he, ‘I will tell it to his father, who will be a glad man when he hears such news.’
‘Very true,’ said Nico, ‘but, indeed, so would not thine in like case, for he would look thou shouldst live but one hour longer, that a discreet word wandered out of thy mouth.’
‘And I pray thee,’ said Pas, ‘gentle Nico, tell me what mischance it was that brought thee to taste so fine a meat?’
‘Marry, goodman blockhead,’ said Nico, ‘because he speaks against jealousy, the filthy traitor to true affection, and yet disguising itself in the raiment of love.’
‘Sentences, sentences,’ cried Pas, ‘alas, how ripe-witted these young folks be nowadays! But well counselled shall that husband be when this man comes to exhort him not to be jealous.’
‘And so shall he,’ answered Nico, ‘for I have seen a fresh example, though it be not very fit to be known.’
‘Come, come,’ said Pas, ‘be not so squeamish. I know thou longest more to tell it than we to hear it.’
But for all his words Nico would not bestow his voice till he was generally entreated of the rest; and then with a merry marriage look he sang this following discourse — for with a better grace he could sing than tell:
A neighbour mine not long ago there was
(But nameless he, for blameless he shall be)
That married had a trick and bonny lass
As in a summer day a man might see;
But he himself a foul unhandsome groom,
And far unfit to hold so good a room.
Now whether moved with self-unworthiness,
Or with her beauty, fit to make a prey,
Fell jealousy did so his brain oppress
That if he absent were but half a day,
He guessed the worst (you wot what is the worst)
And in himself new doubting causes nursed.
While thus he feared the silly innocent,
Who yet was good, because she knew none ill,
Unto his house a jolly shepherd went,
To whom our prince did bear a great goodwill,
Because in wrestling and in pastoral
He far did pass the rest of shepherds all.
And therefore he a courtier was benamed,
And as a courtier was with cheer received
(For they have tongues to make a poor man blamed
If he to them his duty misconceived);
And for this courtier should well like his table,
The goodman bad his wife be serviceable.
And so she was, and all with good intent,
But few days passed while she good manner used,
But that her husband thought her service bent
To such an end as he might be abused.
Yet, like a coward fearing stranger’s pride,
He made the simple wench his wrath abide.
With chumpish looks, hard words, and secret nips,
Grumbling at her when she his kindness sought,
Asking her how she tasted courtier’s lips,
He forced her think that which she never thought.
In fine, it made her guess there was some sweet
In that which he so feared that she should meet.
When once this entered was in woman’s heart,
And that it had inflamed a new desire,
There rested then to play a woman’s part,
Fuel to seek and not to quench the fire;
But (for his jealous eye she well did find)
She studied cunning how the same to blind.
And thus she did: one day to him she came
And (though against his will) on him she leaned,
And out gan cry, ‘ah wellaway, for shame,
If you help not our wedlock will be stained!’
The goodman starting, asked what did her move?
She sighed, and said the bad guest sought her love.
He little looking that she should complain
Of that whereto he feared she was inclined,
Bussing her oft, and in his heart full fain,
He did demand what remedy to find;
How they might get that guest from them to wend,
And yet the prince (that loved him) not offend.
‘Husband’, quoth she, ‘go to him by and by,
And tell him that you find I do him love,
And therefore pray him that of courtesy
He will absent himself, lest he should move
A young girl’s heart to that were shame for both,
Whereto you know his honest heart were loath.
Thus shall you show that him you do not doubt,
And as for me, sweet husband, I must bear.’
Glad was the man when he had heard her out;
And did the same, although with mickle fear.
For fear he did lest he the young man might
In choler put, with whom he would not fight.
The courtly shepherd much aghast at this,
Not seeing erst such token in the wife,
Though full of scorn, would not his duty miss,
Knowing that ill becomes a household strife,
Did go his way, but sojourned near thereby,
That yet the ground hereof he might espy.
The wife thus having settled husband’s brain
(Who would have sworn his spouse Diana was),
Watched when she a further point might gain;
Which little time did fitly bring to pass.
For to the court her man was called by name,
Whither he needs must go for fear of blame.
Three days before that he must sure depart,
She written had (but in a hand disguised)
A letter such which might from either part
Seem to proceed, so well it was devised.
She sealed it first, then she the sealing brake,
And to her jealous husband did it take.
With weeping eyes (her eyes she taught to weep)
She told him that the courtier had it sent:
‘Alas’, quoth she, ‘thus women’s shame doth creep.’
The goodman read on both sides the content;
It title had: Unto my only love.
Subscription was: Yours most, if you will prove.
The pistle self, such kind of words it had:
‘My sweetest joy, the comfort of my sprite,
So may thy flocks increase, thy dear heart glad,
So may each thing e’en as thou wishest light,
As thou wilt deign to read, and gently read,
This mourning ink in which my heart doth bleed.
Long have I loved (alas, thou worthy art),
Long have I loved (alas, love craveth love),
Long have I loved thyself; alas, my heart
Doth break now tongue unto thy name doth move;
And think not that thy answer answer is,
But that it is my doom of bale or bliss.
The jealous wretch must now to court be gone;
Ne can he fail, for prince hath for him sent;
Now is the time we may be here alone,
And give a long desire a sweet content.
Thus shall you both reward a lover true,
And eke revenge his wrong suspecting you.’
And this was all, and this the husband read
With chafe enough, till she him pacified,
Desiring that no grief in him he bred
Now that he had her words so truly tried;
But that he would to him the letter show,
That with his fault he might her goodness know.
That straight was done, with many a boistrous threat
That to the duke he would his sin declare;
But now the courtier gan to smell the feat,
And with some words which showed little care,
He stayed until the goodman was departed,
Then gave he him the blow which never smarted.
Thus may you see the jealous wretch was made
The pander of the thing he most did fear.
Take heed, therefore, how you ensue that trade,
Lest that some marks of jealousy you bear;
For sure no jealousy can that prevent
Whereto two parties once be full content.
‘Behold,’ said Pas, ‘a whole dicker of wit! He hath picked out such a tale, with intention to keep a husband from jealousy, which were enough to make a sanctified husband jealous, to see subtleties so much in the feminine gender. But,’ said he, ‘I will strike Nico dead with the wise words shall flow out of my gorge’; and without further entreaty thus sang:
Who doth desire that chaste his wife should be,
First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve.
Then such be he, as she his worth may see;
And one man still, credit with her preserve.
Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind,
Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right,
Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind;
Never hard hand, nor ever reins too light.
As far from want, as far from vain expense
(The one doth force, the latter doth entice);
Allow good company, but keep from thence
All filthy mouths that glory in their vice.
This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest
To virtue, fortune, time, and woman’s breast.
‘Well concluded,’ said Nico, ‘when he hath done all, he leaves the matter to his wife’s discretion. Now whensoever thou marriest, let her discretion deck thy head with Actaeon’s ornament!’
Pas was so angry with his wish (being indeed towards marriage) that they might perchance have fallen to buffets, but that Dicus (who knew it more wisdom to let a fray than part a fray) desired Philisides (who as a stranger sat among them, revolving in his mind all the tempests of evil fortunes he had passed) that he would do so much grace to the company as to sing one of his country songs.
Philisides knew it no good manners to be squeamish of his cunning, having put himself in their company, and yet loath either in time of marriage to sing his sorrows, more fit for funerals, or by any outward matter to be drawn to such mirth as to betray (as it were) that passion to which he had given over himself, he took a mean way betwixt both and sang this song he had learned before he had ever subjected his thoughts to acknowledge no master but a mistress:
As I my little flock on Ister bank
(A little flock, but well my pipe they couthe)
Did piping lead, the sun already sank
Beyond our world, and ere I gat my booth
Each thing with mantle black the night did soothe,
Saving the glow-worm, which would courteous be
Of that small light oft watching shepherds see.
The welkin had full niggardly enclosed
In coffer of dim clouds his silver groats,
Ycleped stars; each thing to rest disposed:
The caves were full, the mountains void of goats;
The birds’ eyes closed, closed their chirping notes.
As for the nightingale, wood-music’s king,
It August was, he deigned not then to sing.
Amid my sheep, though I saw naught to fear,
Yet (for I nothing saw) I feared sore;
Then found I which thing is a charge to bear,
For for my sheep I dreaded mickle more
Than ever for myself since I was bore.
I sat me down, for see to go ne could,
And sang unto my sheep lest stray they should.
The song I sang old Languet had me taught,
Languet, the shepherd best swift Ister knew,
For clerkly rede, and hating what is naught,
For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true.
With his sweet skill my skill-less youth he drew
To have a feeling taste of him that sits
Beyond the heav’n, far more beyond our wits.
He said the music best thilke powers pleased
Was jump concord between our wit and will,
Where highest notes to godliness are raised,
And lowest sink not down to jot of ill.
With old true tales he wont mine ears to fill:
How shepherds did of yore, how now, they thrive,
Spoiling their flock, or while twixt them they strive.
He liked me, but pitied lustful youth.
His good strong staff my slipp’ry years upbore.
He still hoped well, because I loved truth;
Till forced to part, with heart and eyes e’en sore,
To worthy Coredenshe gave me o’er.
But thus in oak’s true shade recounted he
Which now in night’s deep shade sheep heard of me.
Such manner time there was(what time I not)
When all this earth, this dam or mould of ours,
Was only woned with such as beasts begot;
Unknown as then were they that builden towers.
The cattle, wild or tame, in nature’s bowers
Might freely roam or rest, as seemed them;
Man was not man their dwellings in to hem.
The beasts had sure some beastly policy;
For nothing can endure where order nis.
For once the lion by the lamb did lie;
The fearful hind the leopard did kiss;
Hurtless was tiger’s paw and serpent’s hiss.
This think I well: the beasts with courage clad
Like senators a harmless empire had.
At which, whether the others did repine
(For envy harb’reth most in feeblest hearts),
Or that they all to changing did incline
(As e’en in beasts their dams leave changing parts),
The multitude to Jove a suit imparts,
With neighing, bleaing, braying, and barking,
Roaring, and howling, for to have a king.
A king in language theirs they said they would
(For then their language was a perfect speech).
The birds likewise with chirps and pewing could,
Cackling and chatt’ring, that of Jove beseech.
Only the owl still warned them not to seech
So hastily that which they would repent;
But saw they would, and he to deserts went.
Jove wisely said (for wisdom wisely says):
‘O beasts, take heed what you of me desire.
Rulers will think all things made them to please,
And soon forget the swink due to their hire.
But since you will, part of my heav’nly fire
I will you lend; the rest yourselves must give,
That it both seen and felt may with you live.’
Full glad they were, and took the naked sprite,
Which straight the earth yclothed in his clay.
The lion, heart; the ounce gave active might;
The horse, good shape; the sparrow, lust to play;
Nightingale, voice, enticing songs to say.
Elephant gave a perfect memory;
And parrot, ready tongue, that to apply.
The fox gave craft; the dog gave flattery;
Ass, patience; the mole, a working thought;
Eagle, high look; wolf, secret cruelty;
Monkey, sweet breath; the cow, her fair eyes brought;
The ermine, whitest skin spotted with naught;
The sheep, mild-seeming face; climbing, the bear;
The stag did give the harm-eschewing fear.
The hare her sleights; the cat his melancholy;
Ant, industry; and cony, skill to build;
Cranes, order; storks, to be appearing holy;
Chameleon, ease to change; duck, ease to yield;
Crocodile, tears which might be falsely spilled.
Ape great thing gave, though he did mowing stand:
The instrument of instruments, the hand.
Each other beast likewise his present brings;
And (but they drad their prince they oft should want)
They all consented were to give him wings.
And ay more awe towards him for to plant,
To their own work this privilege they grant:
That from thenceforth to all eternity
No beast should freely speak, but only he.
Thus man was made; thus man their lord became;
Who at the first, wanting or hiding pride,
He did to beasts’ best use his cunning frame,
With water drink, herbs meat, and naked hide,
And fellow-like let his dominion slide,
Not in his sayings saying ‘I’, but ‘we’;
As if he meant his lordship common be.
But when his seat so rooted he had found
That they now skilled not how from him to wend,
Then gan in guiltless earth full many a wound,
Iron to seek, which gainst itself should bend
To tear the bowels that good corn should send.
But yet the common dam none did bemoan,
Because (though hurt) they never heard her groan.
Then gan he factions in the beasts to breed;
Where helping weaker sort, the nobler beasts
(As tigers, leopards, bears, and lions’ seed)
Disdained with this, in deserts sought their rests;
Where famine ravin taught their hungry chests,
That craftily he forced them to do ill;
Which being done, he afterwards would kill
For murder done, which never erst was seen,
By those great beasts. As for the weakers’ good,
He chose themselves his guarders for to been
Gainst those of might of whom in fear they stood,
As horse and dog; not great, but gentle blood.
Blithe were the commons, cattle of the field,
Tho when they saw their foen of greatness killed.
But they, or spent or made of slender might,
Then quickly did the meaner cattle find,
The great beams gone, the house on shoulders light;
For by and by the horse fair bits did bind;
The dog was in a collar taught his kind.
As for the gentle birds, like case might rue
When falcon they, and goshawk, saw in mew.
Worst fell to smallest birds, and meanest herd,
Who now his own, full like his own he used.
Yet first but wool, or feathers, off he teared;
And when they were well used to be abused,
For hungry throat their flesh with teeth he bruised;
At length for glutton taste he did them kill;
At last for sport their silly lives did spill.
But yet, O man, rage not beyond thy need;
Deem it no gloire to swell in tyranny.
Thou art of blood; joy not to make things bleed.
Thou fearest death; think they are loath to die.
A plaint of guiltless hurt doth pierce the sky.
And you, poor beasts, in patience bide your hell,
Or know your strengths, and then you shall do well.
Thus did I sing and pipe eight sullen hours
To sheep whom love, not knowledge, made to hear;
Now fancy’s fits, now fortune’s baleful stours.
But then I homeward called my lambkins dear;
For to my dimmed eyes began t’appear
The night grown old, her black head waxen grey,
Sure shepherd’s sign that morn would soon fetch day.
According to the nature of diverse ears, diverse judgements straight followed: some praising his voice; others the words, fit to frame a pastoral style; others the strangeness of the tale, and scanning what he should mean by it. But old Geron (who had borne him a grudge ever since, in one of their eclogues, he had taken him up overbitterly) took hold of this occasion to make his revenge and said he never saw thing worse proportioned than to bring in a tale of he knew not what beasts at such a banquet when rather some song of love, or matter for joyful melody, was to be brought forth. ‘But,’ said he, ‘this is the right conceit of young men who think then they speak wiseliest when they cannot understand themselves.’ Then invited he Histor to answer him in eclogue-wise; who, indeed, having been long in love with the fair bride Kala, and now prevented, was grown into a detestation of marriage. But thus it was:
Geron Histor
Geron. In faith, good Histor, long is your delay
From holy marriage, sweet and surest mean
Our foolish lusts in honest rules to stay.
I pray thee do to Lalus’ sample lean.
Thou seest how frisk and jolly now he is
That last day seemed he could not chaw a bean.
Believe me, man, there is no greater bliss
Than is the quiet joy of loving wife,
Which whoso wants, half of himself doth miss.
Friend without change, playfellow without strife,
Food without fullness, counsel without pride,
Is this sweet doubling of our single life.
Histor. No doubt to whom so good chance did betide
As for to find a pasture strowed with gold,
He were a fool if there he did not bide.
Who would not have a phoenix if he could?
The humming wasp, if it had not a sting,
Before all flies the wasp accept I would.
But this bad world few golden fields doth bring;
Phoenix but one, of crows we millions have;
The wasp seems gay, but is a cumbrous thing.
If many Kalas our Arcadia gave,
Lalus’ example I would soon ensue;
And think I did myself from sorrow save.
But of such wives we find a slender crew;
Shrewdness so stirs, pride so puffs up their heart,
They seldom ponder what to them is due.
With meagre looks, as if they still did smart,
Puling and whimp’ring, or else scolding flat,
Make home more pain than following of the cart.
Either dull silence, or eternal chat;
Still contrary to what her husband says:
If he do praise the dog, she likes the cat.
Austere she is, when he would honest plays;
And gamesome then, when he thinks on his sheep;
She bids him go, and yet from journey stays.
She war doth ever with his kinsfolk keep,
And makes them fremd who friends by nature are,
Envying shallow toys with malice deep.
And if, forsooth, there come some new-found ware,
The little coin his sweating brows have got
Must go for that, if for her lours he care;
Or else: ‘Nay, faith, mine is the luckiest lot
That ever fell to honest woman yet;
No wife but I hath such a man, God wot.’
Such is their speech who be of sober wit;
But who do let their tongues show well their rage,
Lord, what by-words they speak, what spite they spit!
The house is made a very loathsome cage,
Wherein the bird doth never sing, but cry
With such a will that nothing can assuage.
Dearly the servants do their wages buy,
Reviled for each small fault, sometimes for none;
They better live that in a gaol do lie.
Let other fouler spots away be blown,
For I seek not their shame; but still, methinks,
A better life it is to lie alone.
Geron. Who for each fickle fear from virtue shrinks
Shall in this life embrace no worthy thing;
No mortal man the cup of surety drinks.
The heav’ns do not good haps in handfuls bring,
But let us pick our good from out much bad;
That still our little world may know his king.
But certainly so long we may be glad
While that we do what nature doth require,
And for th’event we never ought be sad.
Man oft is plagued with air, is burnt with fire,
In water drowned, in earth his burial is;
And shall we not therefore their use desire?
Nature above all things requireth this:
That we our kind do labour to maintain;
Which drawn-out line doth hold all human bliss.
Thy father justly may of thee complain,
If thou do not repay his deeds for thee,
In granting unto him a grandsire’s gain.
Thy commonwealth may rightly grieved be,
Which must by this immortal be preserved,
If thus thou murder thy posterity.
His very being he hath not deserved
Who for a self-conceit will that forbear
Whereby that being ay must be conserved.
And God forbid women such cattle were
As you paint them; but well in you I find,
No man doth speak aright who speaks in fear.
Who only sees the ill is worse than blind.
These fifty winters married I have been;
And yet find no such faults in womankind.
I have a wife worthy to be a queen,
So well she can command, and yet obey;
In ruling of a house so well she’s seen.
And yet in all this time betwixt us tway,
We bear our double yoke with such consent,
There never passed foul word, I dare well say.
But these be your love-toys which still are spent
In lawless games, and love not as you should,
But with much study learn late to repent.
How well last day before our prince you could
Blind Cupid’s works with wonder testify!
Yet now the root of him abase you would.
Go to, go to, and Cupid now apply
To that where thou thy Cupid mayst avow,
And thou shalt find in women virtues lie.
Sweet supple minds which soon to wisdom bow,
Where they by wisdom’s rules directed are,
And are not forced fond thraldom to allow.
As we to get are framed, so they to spare;
We made for pains, our pains they made to cherish;
We care abroad, and they of home have care.
O Histor, seek within thyself to flourish;
Thy house by thee must live, or else be gone,
And then who shall the name of Histor nourish?
Riches of children pass a prince’s throne;
Which touch the father’s heart with secret joy
When without shame he saith: ‘these be mine own.’
Marry therefore; for marriage will destroy
Those passions which to youthful head do climb,
Mothers and nurses of all vain annoy.
Histor. Perchance I will, but now methinks it time
We go unto the bride, and use this day
To speak with her, while freely speak we may.
He spake these last words with such affection as a curious eye might easily have perceived he liked Lalus’s fortune better than he loved his person. But then, indeed, did all arise, and went to the women; where spending all the day and good part of the night in dancing, carolling, and wassailing, lastly they left Lalus where he long desired to be left, and with many unfeigned thanks returned every man to his home. But some of them, having to cross the way of the two lodges, might see a lady making doleful lamentations over a body seemed dead unto them.
But methinks Dametas cries unto me, if I come not the sooner to comfort him, he will leave off his golden work hath already cost him so much labour and longing.
Here end the third eclogues.